I hate car trouble …. I hate Monday morning car trouble more …

There are few things that interest me less than a discussion about cars. After you have told me the colour of your car, I have pretty much lost all interest.

And I do believe that red cars go faster. They just do.

I would rather chat about your period cycle and the consistency of your fecal matter than discuss your car. It is so far on the list of things that interest me, I can’t even fake interest.

I love having a car. I love driving a car.

I love the freedom of deciding where I am going to go and when I will get there. I love all those things that put me in a car seat, with a set of car keys and a working car.

That is about where my interest starts to wane.

This morning I climbed into my car, as I always do. I checked everyone was accounted for and buckled up.

I put on a Jane Austen Audio CD, which might have been the “tipping point” factor for this morning.

I reversed out of my garage and became aware that my car was not really reversing as much as performing a jarring series of movements that placed my vehicle in the general direction of the public road.

I have no way of “fixing” if the car is not working.

In my world, a car is either turned on or turned off. I tend to look at it and speak in quiet whispering tones that invoke religion, but other than that, I do not have much to remedy a non-working vehicle.

My car spluttered, and paused, and refused to allow me to coax any speed or power out of it. I started to get very irritated. Then I got worried I was driving my kids in a stupid car, which could blow up, or the wheels fly off as always occurs in movies and cartoons.

I pulled to the side of the road, put my hazards on and climbed out the car. I marched around the car. It’s all in the confident foot stride I believe.

I perused the offending vehicle – gawd alone knows what I was looking for.

I really was hoping for one of those “acme red arrows” you see in cartoons which clearly points to the problem …… I figured I might see a half dead coyote gnawing on the bumper, then I could go “ah, that is the reason for this problem.”

But no coyote. No part of car dragging on the floor.

I checked that all four tyres. They were four tyres. They were on.

That pretty much ended where my capabilities lie in being able to remedy a broken car.

I also lightly kicked the front passenger tyre – I see that a lot in movies and it usually gets some sort of reaction.

I declined to “pop the hood” – if 1/2 the engine was missing, I would not have been any the wiser. I thought it was rather pointless to take this “illusion of checking my car” any further than a cursory walk around and sniff the air.

It was a long drive. It was a painful drive. And I got very angry. I dropped kids off. I did not drop them off so much as they climbed out as my car came to a shuddering halt!

I totally forgot my entire CBT mantra of dealing with issues and rationalising how you feel about something, and then control how you feel rather than getting overwhelmed by a things that happen. If you realise you cannot control something, but can control how you feel, then it is easier to adjust your reaction to mild annoyance, rather than overwhelming anger and screaming at the cat.

Anger is pointless and difficult to deal with, whilst frustration is just that, a mild annoyance you can deal with. Or so my flipfile says.

I sort of forgot that little “life lesson” as I cussed and carried on my 20km/h drive, and then got angry and angrier, and started to “create an epic catastrophe situation”

I had flash backs that as a kid we ALWAYS had this sh8t cars that were always breaking down, or you could not stop at a stop street, else they would stall, and they were generally of the Cortina variety. I have always had reliable vehicles, my car has been more likely to get stolen than break down.

Not this morning.

I also got more angry that I called Kennith 8 times and he did not answer. Funny, how this all became his fault.

I was not angry he did not answer (I was just irritated). But I needed something to get angry at him about as I was already fkd off at my car, and being more angry at that did seem rather pointless and somewhat futile.

I got angry at Kennith because when ever he calls me and I do not answer, when I do answer, I get a 4 minute lecture that I NEVER answer my cell phone, which is a rather moot point as I am on my cell phone, which I answered, getting the lecture for not answering. <sigh>

I could not reach Kennith. I limped home in said car. I phoned Kennith’s mom who kindly agreed to take me to work.

I am on my third cup of tea as I wait for my lift.

I hate broken cars. I hate dealing with broken cars. It makes me feel poor and at risk of having to use public transport.

I hate waiting for someone to fetch and carry me anywhere!

Monday has not got off to a great start …..

<Booked car in for Wednesday morning for a repair. Arranged for Georgia to get home from school, and Kennith arranged a drive to work and back schedule until I have my car back. We know that the car fix bill is going to around R5000.00 or something equally stupid!! Fk!>

6 Comments

“I got angry at Kennith because when ever he calls me and I do not answer, when I do answer, I get a 4 minute lecture that I NEVER answer my cell phone, which is a rather moot point as I am on my cell phone, which I answered, getting the lecture for not answering. ”
Oh my hat, this is me and my hubby, to a T!!!! Sorry for your car trouble but you gave me a good laugh, mostly because it sounds like me exactly right down to blaming the husband!!

Hilary

Hey my dad used to have a chocolate coloured ford cortina. He loved that car and it was in real mint condition too. Got stolen from our front yard. This was in the late 80’s and I swear my dad still get cut up when he talks about that car.

Don’t steal my shit …..{disclaimer}

This website contains material for my amusement only.

This is the part where I tell you to be kind to animals, to help little old ladies across the road, and just give other moms who are having a kak day a bit of a gap from the insistent need to offer them advise on how to control their child losing his/her shit in the bread aisle at Woolworths.

My stuff here is {mostly} my own thoughts - and I do not amend my speech to adjust to your map of the world, or an advertiser or in a bid to make money from my blog.

I think that ship has already sailed.

If the word FUCK offends you --- please step away from this blog, it is really going to offend you.

Some days I am really proud of shit I say, some days I am embarrassed - some days I have no recall of what happened yesterday.

This site may contain personal misinformation or stuff written for stuff sake. A fair deal of swearing, and moaning goes on here.

Activities and parenting advise appearing or described on this site may be potentially dangerous.

No reproduction/duplication of any kind is permitted without the written consent of the author of this blog --- this content is owned in full by the author. You do not have permission to duplicate, copy in part or in full without the express prior written permission from the Reluctant Mom.

Blink if you accept the above conditions.

Want to contact me? celeste@reluctantmom.co.za or leave a message on my blog